Dinner at the Whitlocks'
by clideclant
Summary: Jasper's a young suicidal man who went to war in his teens. He's now depressed after seeing all his friends die. Bella's a popular girl who has had her heart broken too may times. Her dad is dying, and she tried to commit suicide. How will their talk go? One-shot maybe, but if I get enough reviews I'll continue.
1. First Impressions

**A/N: Hey guys, this is my first story ever, so please give me advice. I hope it's good, and I'm thinking about adding another chapter that is the story of Jasper's constellation tale. Review!**

**Summary: Jasper went to war when he was a teen and is now depressed after having all his friends ripped away from him, and is a cutter and is suicidal (also looks a bit emo). Bella is a popular, pretty girl that is depressed because of her dad's impending death. She turned to pills for suicide, and is out for a night at her friends house, where her friends brother, Jasper, happens to be. Jasper takes her outside for a chat and they get to know each other.**

"Can I talk to you outside?" I asked her. I leaned over to speak quietly in her ear. I could almost feel her shiver when my breath touched her neck. Even after all this time, I still wasn't too comfortable with people hearing me talk. The army had taken quite a hit on my self-esteem.

She looked up in shock. I think that she could not believe that someone like me—a "nobody", stupid, delinquent, almost emo person like me—would ever talk to her. She was everything my father had ever wanted me to be. She was smart, popular, comfortable in her own shoes, good-looking and all over perfect. She slowly nodded, still confused, and we snuck out the door. I was surprised that hardly anybody glanced up as we left. I guess I had that effect on people; I was invisible. However, she was not, and I was curious as to why none of her 'friends' followed us.

We walked onto the porch. The moonlight was shining perfectly, so that the shadows of the trees on the ground made a peaceful looking atmosphere. I stared into the night sky. There must have been hundreds of stars. I could even see some of the constellations that we would share stories about in the military units. There was _Marcus, _the fallen soldier, and his brother, _Dyrecius_ next to him, holding his dead son. This story had been my favorite as a lad, but now it just made me want to vomit.

I didn't realize that we had been standing there in silence for about a minute (her glancing between me, the sky, and her feet, and me again) until she cleared her throat. "What did you want to talk to me for?" she asked, obviously not satisfied with my bringing her outside for no apparent reason. A breeze swept over the porch as I turned to look at her, blowing her hair in front of her face and neck.

My hand reached out of its own accord, brushing the hair away from her creamy neck and running my thumb over her throat. I could not believe that only days ago the medicine of death was sliding down that same pipe. "Why did you do it?" I asked. I merely wanted to know if I was the only one that wanted out of this world for no reason.

"Why the fuck do you care?" she asked, obviously offended. "Why should a freak like you give a shit about my life? You don't fucking know what it's like to want to die. It's none of your fucking business."

I slowly turned my wrist upward, and showed her something I never showed anybody. Even my father, who I was very close to, did not get to see them often. I slowly pulled back my black sweatshirt sleeve to reveal the jagged crisscross pattern that covered my inner arm, and the four deep, straight lines that ran from the crease of my elbow to the very start of my hand. "I do fucking know what it's like. I just thought you might want some company in it all. Just take my advice; don't listen to one word of the shitty advice the doctors will feed you. Don't let them convince you that there's something wrong with you. Don't let them make you lie to yourself that you need 'professional, experienced help'. Don't let them convince you that they know more about your mind and feelings than you. Remember that **you** make the decisions regarding your life, and doctors and counselors that have never thought about suicide once will never understand that sometimes people just want a break from this world. They're all shitheads—don't let them convince you otherwise."

She stared at me in shock. Those were the most—the only words she had ever heard me say, and quite frankly that might have been the only time I delivered that long of a speech to anyone but my father or my trainer in the army. I looked down at my feet, scared of what she might say to me. I never really liked to talk to people, but I wanted to check in on this one girl. I wanted to make sure she was okay and shit, and honestly, I needed some reassurance that I was not the only one wanting the eave this world behind.

I was so caught up in my own thoughts, I must not have seen her coming, but the next thing I knew, she had lain her head upon my chest. Her small arms just barely made it around my frame. I stiffened. I did not like being touched, but I felt as though I had to return the gesture. I slowly slid my own scarred, mutilated, ugly arms around her small frame. We were hugging. The only woman I had ever held like this was my mom when we met each other after long journeys, and even then, it never lasted more than a minute. I did not realize that she was crying until I felt a damp spot on my shirt right over my heart. I tightened my arms. In all honesty, I did not know what else to do.

I lowered us to the ground, and placed her next to me. We both sat on the cold, grey concrete of the walkway to the house; her with her head on my chest, her arms around my middle, and me resting my head on top of hers with my arms around her shoulders. After about ½ hour, she looked up at me. I could see the tears in her eyes, the way they glistened in the moonlight.

"Why did you do it?" she asked me, looking for comfort.

"I just wanted out. I hate this place."

"My dad is dying," she whispered to me. After that, my reason sounded pretty lame. I would not know what to do if my dad died. I would probably run rampant and kill the entire US in one day. He was the only stable in my life; he was the only person that I could always rely on. She on the other hand, she sacrificed herself to save others from suffering from her insanity.

"It's a pain in the ass, isn't it," I said.

"What is?"

"When the doctors stop you. When you wake up, they're always like, 'ooh, I'm so glad you're okay,' and then you feel like screaming in their face, 'well I wish I were dead, so fuck off', but you know you can't because they'll just medicate you more?" It always ticked me off when they did this. Like, seriously. If I committed suicide, why would they expect me to be happy when I found out I was alive?

"Well, I don't really know if I should've downed those pills. I mean, I don't want to be here right now, but I should've waited until my dad was gone, at least."

I heard the door creak open, and her best friend stuck their head around the corner. "Hey guys, the Head says it's time to come in now." She looked between us, looking quite confused. I could see why. I, the bullied freak of the school was holding hands with the popular, pretty-faced 'plastic' girl, playing with her fingers as she leaned against my shoulder.

"We'll be in in a second," my new non-enemy-almost-friend answered for me. The door closed. I looked back up at the stars. More had come out, as it was probably almost midnight. My favorite childhood constellation had a few more of its stars now, even though the only time you could see the whole thing was on a completely cloudless night where no light pollution existed. This would be my hometown, Middle of Nowhere. I was just starting to remember when my friend and I had first discovered this formation of stars 3 days before he was shot and killed, when she interrupted my thoughts.

"We should go in now," she whispered, gazing into the sky. I could tell that she was trying to find out what the heck I kept staring at.

"You go in. I'll be in in a minute," I murmered back, never breaking my gaze from the stars. Right before she stood up, I planted a lingering kiss on her forehead. "Remember my advice. Don't let them get to you." She was stunned for a second as my breath blew across her face and my lips brushed her skin. She blushed and stood.

"Don't be too long," she said as she opened the door. I looked back into the sky, and forced the memories of my childhood in the army back. 'Soon', I thought to myself. 'You can think about that soon'. I knew I would not go back into that house where I did not belong tonight. It was filled with laughter and cheeriness, and I was filled with tears and longing.

I stood and jumped the fence in the backyard. No, I would not turn back. I would find my way home like a real soldier. To my real home, not to the shabby house where I lived with my dad, but real home.


	2. Memory Lane

**Hey guys,  
Sorry about the long wait. I've had a lot of school work. I really hope you like it, and please review! I know that several people have added this story to alerts, and it would mean the world to me if you just let me know if I'm doing stuff right. This is my first fanfic, so I really need help! (I'm sorry for already being one of those annoying people asking for reviews...) Enjoy!**

I walked for hours. I weaved through the hanging vines in the trees, out into orchard where apples were illuminated in the pale moonlight. I walked through farm fields. I walked over hills where spotted cows grazed, and they would raise their heads to look at me curiously, wondering what a human was doing in the field when the moon was up in the sky. After about three hours of walking, I started to feel the grass get wet with the morning dew, and soon after, the darkness started to fade by just a tad bit. I highly doubt that I would've been able to detect the slight changes that signaled the morning's approach if it were not for nights just like these in the army.

I would always walk with my friends on similar nights, when we would stargaze and invent and tell the stories of the stars. The memories started to flood back to me, and for the first time in over a year, I let them. I stationed myself in a field next to a big forest, and leaned against an old, knotted oak at least a hundred years older that me. I remembered a day when I had hid behind a tree similar to this with a rifle in my arms, ready to shoot. But tonight was not a night for those memories. Tonight I had left to remember the stars.

I gazed up at the constellation that had dictated my childhood. My father had been a soldier before me, and his old army friends had always hung out at out house. They had told me the story of the fallen soldier _Marcus_ and his brother _Dyrecius_ who was cursed to carry his dead son in his arms forever. I let my memories steal me away from the beautiful field where the sun was rising, into a much darker world filled with monsters, magic and gods.

"_Once there was a warrior, Marcus, who was the greatest warrior in all the lands. It was said that when he and his army attacked, the ground shook with their footsteps, and the skies turned black with rage," I listen to the story teller's soft voice, letting it wash in and out of me. This is my favorite story. _

"_Marcus was a man of pride and ambition; he took his actions to the highest level. If he did not try his hardest in any task, he considered it a failure even if it was the best task completed. This is what lead him to his doom." The storyteller's voice droned on. The campfires are the only times when I, a seven year old, feel like I can fit in with a group of war veterans that risked their life for me and my country. I let the story wash over me; I hear about the first battle that Marcus lost, about how he convinced himself he wasn't a hard enough fighter (even though he had killed the most men). _

_My favorite part of the story is when he did the bravest thing a man could do. "Marcus crept into the enemies camp alone, because the rest of his army had been killed in the day's battle. He alone made it out alive. With one hand severed from his arm, he cut all the men's throats without a thought to the one rule of battle—'never strike when a man's back is turned'. Marcus had disregarded this rule, and he knew he had to be punished._

"_When the gods in the heavens looked down to village, they saw a young man flea, leaving his enemy dead in his wake. They called the god of war to come, and the god of war declared that the man had indeed violated the rules of battle. The god of war stated in a strong voice that the man was to be punished for his actions. All of the gods went on a search for the young man they had seen run from the village. _

"_The gods searched for Marcus for seven days and seven nights, but they found his twin, Dyrecius , before they found Marcus. Marcus had managed to deceive the gods by hiding among the dead in Hell, where heavenly gods like the god of war could not go. Marcus tricked the gods into thinking that it was his twin that had violated the laws of war instead of fessing up for his crime. Marcus was a brilliant warrior and strategist, and he took more pride in that than he could ever take from winning a battle. _

_Dyrecius was sentenced to eternal torture. He would have to carry the dead body of person he loved most day and night as the body eternally bled yellow blood—the color of betrayal. Dyrecius is still out there, carrying the dead body of his beloved son as he gushes blood. Marcus, however, managed to get away with his crime and the gods never knew, because Marcus practiced secrecy and strategy. This is how all warriors should be—strong, brave, strategist, intelligent, and most of all, every warrior should know how to get out of a tough spot, and be able to protect themselves in every situation. Now, men, get in your 'bags. We have a busy day tomorrow."_

_My dad picks me up and carries me inside the house. All the army men are sleeping outside tonight, so that they can remember the days they had sleeping on the hard ground during war, where they formed the most lasting friendships. As I fall asleep, I begin to dream about being like Marcus someday. I want to be smart, cunning, deceitful, a good fighter, I want to be able to turn on my own family someday just to show that I can fight, I want to be able to stand up for my words with guns and bloodshed, I want to—_

"WHO THE FUCK IS LAYING ON MY LAWN! GET UP YOU SCRAWNY BASTERD! UP I SAY! I BET YOU HAD SOME WHORE WITH YOU EARLIER—I BET YOU THOUGH IT WOULD BE FUNNY TO CHRISTEN MY LAWN! UP I SAY, AND GET OUTTA HERE! YOU'RE MESSING UP MY GRASS!" My memories were interrupted with a loud bellow coming from a bow-legged old man hobbling toward me, brandishing a walking stick. It was odd to see a man this old yelling about young teenagers having sex on other people's land; I almost felt as if I were in a TV show.


End file.
